I wanted someone to swoop in and save me from the impending deadline of doom circling above me. The story I was working on had been driving me crazy for months now. I was blank, couldn’t seem to strain a single word from my fingers and it was making me go insane.

Of course, I knew the only one who could do that was me, but it still didn’t stop me from wishing for a knight in shining armor with an extensive vocabulary and fabulous story-telling abilities to come and save the day – or my book to be exact.

Because of my defensiveness, our first dinner date had gone to hell. Jordan had taken time out from his crazy schedule to take me out, and I'd ended up having a mini-tantrum.

I felt guilty as sin over the whole thing. But another reason I felt so depressed over our argument was that it was a very sudden and cold wake up call for me. Jordan and I were two very different people now.

As much as loved him, and I loved him deeply, we didn’t quite fit anymore.

He didn’t understand my work and I had no clue about his. It hurt my heart to even contemplate the idea that we had drifted apart since childhood when I wanted nothing more than to be wrapped up in all he was.

We walked into the house side by side, but I could feel the stinging ridge spreading between us; a ridge that ricocheted further apart when we walked into the kitchen and were faced with Annabelle.

She was dressed in a basic, lemon tank top and flannel pajama bottoms. Her long blonde hair was swept on top of her head in a makeshift bun and her face was bare of makeup, and I swear she still looked like a freaking supermodel. My eyes took in her swan-like neck and painfully lean body in envy.

How was this fair?

How did women like Annabelle and Teagan go through pregnancy and childbirth and come out looking like rakes?

Meanwhile, the closest I'd ever been to having a baby was when Teagan sat on me at eight months pregnant, and yet I was the one that looked like I had produced half a dozen kids from my ever-widening, childbearing hips.

I hated these cursed curves I had inherited from my mother. Thick hips, even thicker ass, cinched waist and painfully big breasts.

The only luck I had was my father had given me height to carry my body shape. It still sucked though, being around all these skinny, perfectly proportioned women. They looked like Victoria Secret models while I looked like a fucking walking porn star. Not a good look for a career woman – which was why I usually dressed in hoodies and jeans or sweats. Loose clothing saved me from the countless ogling stares I received from gross men.

Thankfully, Jordan seemed to think the same as me. In fact, he didn’t seem to take any notice of her appearance at all.

It was obvious from watching them these past few weeks that their relationship was purely platonic. Sure, Jordan and Annabelle were close, but it was a best friend type of close. I wasn’t sure why, but sometimes that bothered me even more. It made me think of Hunter and the friendship I used to share with him. It made me miss his friendship…

"How was dinner?" Annabelle chirped in that soft, feminine tone of hers as she removed a tray of freshly baked cookies from the oven before placing them on a cooling rack on the counter.

"Ryder down for the night?" Jordan asked as he walked over to where she was standing and snatched a piping hot cookie from the rack before juggling it from hand to hand, obviously waiting for it to cool down enough for him to eat.

Meanwhile, I walked over to the kitchen table and took a seat. I still felt uncomfortable around them. I knew Jordan was constantly trying to put me at ease, and Annabelle, when she wasn’t annoying as hell, was actually pretty nice to me, but it was still hard for me.

"Yeah, he was shattered and went down at eight," she replied, snatching the cookie back from him and returning it to the rack. "There hasn’t been a peep out of him since, poor little guy." She then smacked the flour off her hands before turning and giving me a megawatt smile. "Let me guess, he got the salmon at dinner?" Her question was directed at me and when I nodded, she threw her head back and laughed. "You're so predictable, Jord."

"I know what I like," he shot back with a rueful smile. "The way I see it, there's no point in me messing around with other dishes when I've already found my favorite."

For the next hour or so, I watched them go back at forth with each other. Everything about this situation was different to what I knew – to where I'd come from. I found myself unable to relate to the topics of conversations they spoke about or the banter they used. I felt completely left out. Worse, I felt like the third wheel in my own marriage. I envied the easygoing relationship she seemed to have with my husband. I craved to be able to banter back and forth with him like she did without any fear of upsetting him or making him close up.

* * *

Hours later, when we were lying in bed, I found myself staring up at the ceiling with an unbridled amount of energy coursing through my veins. Hell, maybe my parents should have had me tested for ADHD when we were kids, too, and not just Cameron. But then again, I was normally a heavy sleeper. Nine times out of ten, I was out cold the minute my head hit the pillow. Not lately though. Not in months.

Every time I closed my eyes, I was haunted by the godawful image of Teagan's lifeless body that horrible afternoon last year. Of the broken look in Noah's eyes when he dropped to his knees in that hospital waiting room as the doctor told him the worst news a parent could hear. Even though months had passed, and they were both in a good place now, my heart still broke for them. And when my thoughts weren't taking up with those horrible memories, they were replaced with mental images of what I had done that night in the Ring of Fire.

Of what I had helped conceal.

I had always known there was a dark side to me. As a teenager, the threat of the Ring of Fire had spiked illicit and dangerous levels of excitement inside of me when it should have scared me silly. As an adult, I had been exposed to a dark and illegal underworld of crime and violence, not to mention dangerous and ruthless men who showed almost book-boyfriend levels of devotion to their women. The danger drew me like a moth to a flame, and even though I managed to hide it well, it was always there, this wildness just beneath the surface, itching to get out.

What I did with Hunter that night – what I had wanted to do – had somehow released that darkness in me. And now here I was, a mediocre writer, with a vanilla existence, craving a lifestyle that was so far out of the bubble it should have sent me running.

It didn’t.

Without permission, my thoughts drifted to Hunter and those stupid text messages he had sent me last week. Those messages were the reason I had avoided going to South Peak Road all week. They were also the reason I found myself tossing and turning at night.

I never texted him back that day and I despised the part of me that wished I had.

I was well aware of the tattoos he bore on his body, the instinctive marks that represented a life of crime and prison-gang violence. I knew about the guns. The loss of life. The danger he represented to me. And it only seemed to make me want to be around him more.

God, I was so completely fucked up.

Forcing my mind blank, I turned onto my side and studied my husband's sleeping frame as he lay on his side with his back to me.

My heart ached at the sight of him laying here with me. My thoughts drifted to much safer thoughts now. Memories I welcomed with open arms.

The bike rides we had taken together as children. Fishing at the lake. Backyard camping adventures and the cushion filled forts in my parent's living room.

I remembered the child my husband used to be and smiled. Those cute reading glasses he was always pushing up on his nose. The beautiful drawings he used to create and how he'd always made me feel like I was the most important person in his world.

Life was so different for us back then.

We had both been so different back then.

I was much darker now. I was capable of dreadful, unspeakable things that should make me feel remorse, but didn’t.

"Jordan?" I whispered into the darkness, desperate to hear his voice and have him comfort me. "Are you awake?" I knew he wasn't, but that didn't stop me from selfishly reaching out and trailing my fingers over the bare flesh of his shoulders.

The moment I touched him, I realized my mistake, but of course, it was too late to take it back. Jordan sprang up in the bed, jolting away from me.

Instantly, guilt swarmed me.

God, I was a shitty wife.

"Sorry," I whispered, biting down on my lip, when he finally focused his startled expression on me. "I didn’t mean to…" I reached my hand out again to comfort him before thinking better of it and quickly snatching it back.

He caught ahold of my hand midair and gently tugged, settling it against his chest. The small amount of physical contact caused my heart to flutter wildly in my chest.

"What's wrong, Hope?" His voice was thick from sleep as he tightened his hold on my hand. "Why are you still awake?"

Because I'm a horrible person and I can't sleep with all the blood on my hands.

"I was just thinking," I whispered instead.

Jordan turned on his side to face me, still holding my hand to his chest. "Thinking about what?"

"About life," was all I was willing to say, all I dared to say. Jordan could never know the things I knew. No one could. No one but Hunter. I would have to take my secrets to the grave. "It's family night tomorrow at the house of Carter," I said in a lighter tone, steering the subject away from my criminal activity. "Will you come with me this time?" I could hear the hopeful, almost begging glint in my tone and I hated it. I didn’t want to have to beg my husband to hang out with my friends. But we had been back together over a month now and Jordan had yet to face my friends or my family. Every time I asked him to join me, he always came up with excuses as to why he couldn’t make it, and I wasn’t holding out much hope for tonight's invitation.

"I'm volunteering at the halfway house tomorrow night," he replied after several moments of paused silence, proving me right. "Mark had to take a raincheck. His wife's due date is sometime next week and he doesn’t want to leave her home alone at night." Shrugging, he added, "I couldn’t say no."

"Okay." I tried to hide my disappointment and failed bitterly. I wasn’t a masked person. Usually, whatever I was feeling was etched on my face. And right now, I was feeling disappointed in my husband.

Mom and Dad had hosted family night at their place every Tuesday since I was a baby. We all showed up to eat, hang out, argue, and watch movies.

It was a Carter tradition and it hurt me deeply that Jordan kept avoiding it.

How were we ever going to progress in our marriage if he wouldn’t even try and make an effort with my family?

Growing up, my dad had always made a huge deal out of the age old saying 'you made your bed, now lie in it.' Well, I had made my bed – my marital bed with Jordan. Now, all I had to do was lie in it.

"Are you mad?" he asked then, breaking me from my thoughts.

"Not mad," I whispered honestly. Just lonely…